Freedom
by Queen Bookworm the First
Summary: Dudley finds forgiveness.


**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Quarterfinals**

Team: Wimbourne Wasps

Position: Beater 2

**Prompt**: To Kill A Mockingbird - A character becomes aware of prejudices and/or social inequality.

**Optional Prompts**:

7\. (word) freedom

12\. (song) Who I Am Hates Who I've Been - Relient K

14\. (word) futile

* * *

A knock sounded on the door, the sound reverberating in the otherwise silent apartment. Dudley stirred, rubbing his eyes with a soft groan. He rose slowly from the sofa, his joints aching from the backbending position he'd fallen asleep in, and padded across the room to the door.

Dudley's fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the doorknob before he remembered what Dedalus had said. He froze, holding his breath. "_Be careful. They're out to get you."_

He heard a foot tap impatiently, and a hundred different scenarios flickered through his mind. What if they were here to kidnap him—or kill him?

"It's Hermione Granger," said a voice from behind the door, quiet and tentative. "Ha—his friend."

Dudley didn't say anything.

The supposed Hermione continued, her voice shaky. "I—I could tell you something to prove I'm… well, I'm me, if you'd like." When Dudley failed to respond again, she said, "You were attacked by dementors in before Ha—his fifth year, and he saved you by casting a Patronus. Also, he told me… he told me that he forgave you. He wasn't the boy in the cupboard anymore."

Dudley inhaled sharply, resting his forehead against the door. Steeling himself, he opened the door.

A girl with disheveled bushy hair stood before him, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she were trying to comfort herself. Her brown eyes, dull and tired, sagging with an unknown weight, met his gaze for a moment, then dropped down. Dudley knew her—that he knew with certainty. He'd seen her in a photo Harry had on his bedside. _A girl from another world._

Hermione waited outside awkwardly, her fingers twitching. Dudley blinked, understanding, and stepped aside. "Er… come in."

She ambled inside, her stride weary and disjointed, and perched on the edge of an armchair. Dudley shut the door and sat down across from her.

Hermione drew in a breath, her petite frame quivering. "The war's… the war's over."

Dudley's heart stopped beating, and his head shot up. "What?"

She screwed her eyes shut. "It's over."

"And Harry?"

The question hung in the air, settling over them like a too-warm blanket. Dudley could practically feel the tension oozing from every corner of the room.

Hermione clenched her fists. "Harry's—" She looked away for a moment, her bottom lip violently trembling. When she spoke, it was as if she knew it was futile to keep trying, the words coming out choked and stumbling. "He's dead."

Dudley froze.

He could feel it building in his chest, rising up his throat, and suddenly he couldn't breathe, couldn't say a single word.

Harry was dead.

The boy in the cupboard was gone—green eyes, messy black hair, lightning-bolt scar. All of it was gone.

And Dudley—Dudley had known, _known_ that this was a boy who'd lost his parents, this was a boy who was abused, this was a boy who'd seen too much and lived too little, and he'd still done it.

He had still bullied him. He had still pushed him around. He had still thrown biting words at him. He had still succumbed to the mentalities of his parents and he _hated_ that he had done it.

He hated who he'd been.

He hated that he'd changed too late.

He remembered how he and his friends-he shuddered at the thought that those people had been his _friends_-ganged up on Harry. How Harry had come to school in his ridiculously large and heavily-worn grey uniform. How Harry would spend the whole day under the sun, his too-young body drenched in sweat, as Dudley jeered at him, stuffing another donut into his mouth. How Dudley's parents would lock him up in the cupboard, even starve him, and Dudley stood by and had the audacity to make it _worse. _How Harry had pushed it all down, all the taunts and beatings, and saved Dudley from the dementor.

How Harry, even as his mind and body were pushed to their limits, even as he came home year after year with fresh scars, still cared.

He knew that it was futile to say anything, because how could he? How could he, the boy who'd made Harry's life miserable?

But Dudley knew that somehow, if Harry was watching, he had to show he cared, too.

So he forced his lips to move, almost robotically, and asked, "How? Why?"

Hermione flinched, blinking back tears. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked like she was barely there, a blanket on the verge of unraveling. She slid back on the armchair and leaned her head back. "He and Voldemort were dueling. We'd done everything we were supposed to do. But… but something messed up."

_Something that I wouldn't understand, _Dudley thought bitterly. _Something I never cared to ask Harry about._

Hermione shrunk in on herself as she continued. "Harry killed Voldemort. But Voldemort also killed Harry."

"But why?"

Hermione bit her chapped lips, looking anywhere in the room but at him. "Voldemort is… _was _someone who hated Muggles and Muggleborns."

Dudley blinked. "People like me."

She nodded, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "People like us. I'm a Muggleborn," she added.

"Why did he hate us?"

"He thought that we were inferior-Muggles because they have no magic, and Muggleborns because our blood was 'dirty' and we 'stole' magic." She pulled up her sleeve, her lips twisting into a grimace. Dudley sucked in a breath when he saw the bright red scar running down her arm, the jagged cuts spelling out the word _mudblood. _

"And Harry fought for us?" he whispered, his eyes never leaving the scar.

"Harry was chosen by a prophecy, but yes, he fought for us. He fought because he cared, because he didn't think anyone's blood was dirty. He sacrificed himself for us."

"I didn't know."

Hermione's eyes softened, offering him a sad smile. "You never asked."

The words hit Dudley like a knife to the chest. It was almost ironic, he decided. He'd hated Harry for his magic, for his _weirdness_, yet in Harry's world, Dudley was the weird one, the hated one.

All this time, he'd been so high up on his horse of prejudice, not realizing that someone else thought that _he_ was the dirt beneath their boot.

"I wish I could have told him," Dudley said quietly, surprising himself. But the words rolled off his tongue as if they had been waiting there for months, as if they'd been aching to be heard. "I wish I could've shown that I've changed. That I hate who I was. That I hate that I never asked. That I hate that we never really we're close. He was my bloody cousin, for God's sake. He lived with me for sixteen years and all I did was make his life even more horrible than it already was."

Hermione's eyes were wide when he finished. She rose and walked over to him, clasping his hand in hers. "I think he knew."

Dudley met her eyes, his brows furrowed.

"And I think he forgave you."

Dudley let out a breath, closing his eyes. A warmth settled on his heart. _Freedom. _Freedom from his guilt.

And somewhere, somehow, he felt like Harry was watching.


End file.
